


Drink Champagne and Dance All Night

by drabbleandfluff



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Car Porn, M/M, Phil really loves his car, intimating Phil/Clint/ Lola
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:58:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drabbleandfluff/pseuds/drabbleandfluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one touches Lola.  Obviously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drink Champagne and Dance All Night

 

When Phil feels the need to indulge himself, he goes to see Lola.

He takes her out of the city.  Gets her onto an empty interstate highway and _lets her go_ ; lets her push him back into his seat by the virtue of force of momentum alone. 

He takes her full throttle.  A wide satisfied grin breaks across his face as he eases himself deep into her soft supple leather; she cradles his ass while supporting (caressing) his back, hugging his thighs.   

He leans back and revels in the roar of her engine.  Her throaty purr vibrates up through him-- teasing upwards around his calves, circling over his hips; and up through to his cock.  Phil can unwind and enjoy the ride she gives him.  And boy, does she give it to him.

 

After working her thoroughly, he takes her back to the garage and lets her cool down.  He changes from his immaculate suit into his greasy coveralls, then gets down onto his back to roll beneath her.  He gets his hands up into her, his fingers sliding deftly over her pipes, making sure everything is lubed up right—that she’s tight where she needs to be, no leaks or drips. 

Phil rolls out, after.  He gets up and leans into her engine, getting into her from on top; hands covered in oil.  He knows some mechanics prefer to wear gloves when working on their cars to protect their hands-- but Phil?  He _needs_ the feel of her slick on his skin, have it pool under his fingernails. 

And then there’s the smell of her.  It stirs something warm (hot) inside Phil’s chest; something protective, something possessive.  No one touches Lola.  No one but Phil.

 

He makes sure all her fluids are topped off.  That she does not want for anything.

Phil finds glory in taking her apart and putting her back together again (again and again)--  to see her open and waiting for him, for his hands; for his touch.  He greases her good, makes sure she’s happy.

 

When Lola’s happy, Phil is happy.

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

“You were with her today, weren’t you?”

“Jealous, Barton?”

He can hear the smirk in Phil’s voice, the smug pleasure of a day spent fondling his favorite _girl_.  And Clint?  No.  He is definitely not jealous.  Not when they’re like _this_ \--  not when Phil is deep inside.

“Should I be?  You spend a lot of time with her… you _smell_ like her.”

Clint can feel the pleased rumble roll through Phil’s chest, “…wanna spend some time with us, Clint?” Phil asks as his hips pick up the pace, “I could fuck you next to her, she could watch us...” he mutters gruffly as he kisses (sucks on, _devours_ ) the side of Clint’s neck, “or fuck you over her hood… _or inside her_ …”

“ _Fuck_ , Phil…”

“.. we’d feel her beneath us, surround us as I have you spread over my lap--  your arms draped over the front seats as you hang on.  Your knees digging into her back seat as you ride my cock…”

Clint groans, overwhelmed by the fucking possibilities… of fucking Phil and his fucking promises of _Phil and Lola_.  He hangs his head down, low between his shoulder blades as a wave of pleasure consumes him and he moans.  Sweat is dripping off his nose, and his elbows give out at a particularly well placed thrust. He leans his head all the way down onto the bed, letting Phil have full control, tipping his hips up in a valiant effort to meet Phil.

“It’d be perfect,” Phil’s voice is a dark whisper in his ear, “…you, me and Lola--“  her name is groaned in Phil’s rasp, and that’s it; Phil wraps a hot callused palm around Clint’s cock and he is _gone_.

Clint comes on a whine, back arching into Phil’s chest.  Seconds later Phil is emptying himself into Clint, the archer’s name falling from his lips.

 

Clint giggles later, softly; lazy and flushed in lassitude, “-- you know Lola’s a dude, right?”

Phil snorts, disputing Clint’s absurdity--  “that’s all you, Flyboy.  My Lola’s a showgirl…”

The giggles grow, “Hah! no, no, no-- … now wouldn't that just make you _Tony_ in that scenario?…” a hoot of laughter follows the too loud snickering.

 “Shut up,” Phil growls, as he tackles Clint across the bed.

Clint falls off the other side, buck-ass naked and guffawing nonetheless.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from The Kinks' 'Lola'.
> 
> Two songs referenced in the fic:  
> 'Lola' by The Kinks  
> 'Copacabana' by Barry Manilow


End file.
